


playing tag between us

by forcynics



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: F/F, Miscommunication, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:42:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forcynics/pseuds/forcynics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maureen knows from the start that having a crush on her bandmate is a bad idea. Then it gets a lot more complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	playing tag between us

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [shadowhunters ficathon](http://ladygawain.livejournal.com/83265.html)
> 
>  
> 
> [come say hi](http://storiesaboutwolves.tumblr.com)

 

 

 

Maureen knows from the start that having a crush on her bandmate is a bad idea. 

It’s the worst cliché, it’s bound to go wrong, and naturally, that’s why it happens to her. It’s hard to avoid, really – she spends late nights and weekends with Simon at band practice, exhausted until they hit that perfect spot of inspiration and take off with it, giddy and excited about the music and the new band even though none of them have actual delusions of future fame.

It’s fun, and she’s been playing guitar since she was thirteen, but she’s never found other musicians that she fit so well with until she started playing with Simon and Jake. Especially Simon. 

And there the problem began.

Or no, not then. It was just a harmless crush at first, just a little bit of attraction that Maureen figured she would get over soon enough, because the band was the most important thing.

The first time they played in front of an audience was at a small coffee shop, and right before the show, a girl with bright red hair threw her arms around Simon and squealed, “Sorry I’m so late! Break a leg!” and Simon hugged her tight and then beamed at her, like there wasn’t a single other person in the room, and Maureen couldn’t stop staring at this girl, her stomach doing a series of nasty flips, and, okay—

 _That_ was where the problem began.

 

 

 

Clary Fray, that’s her name. She comes to all of their shows, doesn’t miss a single one except for one time when she’s cramming for a final, and even then she texts Simon good luck before they start – Maureen doesn’t know exactly what she writes, but Simon just grins at his phone, texting back quickly and biting down like he’s trying to keep in a laugh, completely absorbed until Jake elbows him, “Earth to Simon?”

“Sorry!” Simon shoves his phone into his pocket. “Clary says good luck guys.” It takes a lot for Maureen to hold back from rolling her eyes. Mostly, it takes the reminder that she really doesn’t have any reason to. Simon is her bandmate. She knew it was a bad idea anyway.

So it doesn’t matter if he’s totally in love with some other girl, even if she’s got flaming red curls that make her impossible not to notice, even if she’s impossibly tiny and dainty and feisty all at once, even if she sits at a nearby table with her sketch book when they play in coffee houses, and actually _draws_ Simon throughout the show, which is—who even does that? Why can’t she just snap some pics for Instagram like the rest of the world?

It figures that Simon’s dream girl would be some amazingly talented artist that Maureen could never compete with.

“Clary got accepted to the Brooklyn Academy of Art!” he tells them excitedly at band practice one day, clearly bursting with pride, and Maureen offers congratulations, because she’s his friend and that’s what a friend should say, and she tries her best not to think about how she can’t draw anything more than stick people.

It’s not a competition. It’s really not. There wouldn’t _be_ any competition between her and Clary Fray. 

That much is obvious when Simon always walks home with Clary after their shows, and Clary wraps her arm around his, gushing about something that makes him laugh. It’s obvious when they’re packing up after a gig and Simon asks Clary what kind of take-out she wants that night, and they bicker back and forth about each other’s preferences like they’ve done this a million times. It’s obvious in how natural and in sync they are with their easy banter and their inside jokes, completely untouchable to the rest of the world.

No competition at all.

 

 

 

Simon asks if Maureen wants to hang out with them one night after a show, says they’re just going back to his place to play board games and order Chinese food. 

Clary gets a weird expression on her face, sucking in a breath and pressing her lips together tight, and she shoots Simon a look that Maureen can’t decipher, and she won’t look Maureen in the eye, and okay, signal taken.

“Um, nah, it’s fine,” she finally says, scuffs the toe of her shoe against the sidewalk and adjusts her guitar strap over her shoulder. “I gotta get up early tomorrow–” lie “–so I’m just gonna go home and crash.”

“Oh,” Clary lifts her head up then, actually sounds, and even looks, a little disappointed. “Okay, um, see you soon, Maureen! You guys were great tonight!”

Maureen’s barely exchanged words with her before, and she’s a little startled by the smile Clary’s flashing at her, how genuine she sounds even though ten seconds ago Maureen was convinced Clary didn’t want her to come be some weird third wheel.

“Yeah, um, see you soon,” she echoes. “Bye Simon,” she adds, and he lifts his hand in a little salute and then she turns away, walks off in her own direction and tries not to over-analyze whether that was a sincere invitation or not, why Simon even said it in the first place, and what she’s going to do for her own dinner when she gets home, because her stomach’s grumbling now that she’s thinking about Chinese food. 

Simon probably just wants her to get to know his girlfriend better, she finally decides, around the time she turns onto her street. They don’t really spend much time together outside of band things, but they’re still friends, and he probably wants Clary and her to be friends too. That’s the natural direction this is all going.

So fine. She can do that. She can suck up her dumb old crush and her dumb instinctive jealousy and the dumb way she lets herself feel nervous and insecure around Clary and her bright hair and her friendly smiles. 

She still doesn’t think she and Clary will be the best of friends anytime soon, not going by the way her stomach somersaults when she just thinks about the other girl, but if that’s what Simon wants, she’ll try.

 

 

 

Clary pops up out of nowhere while Maureen’s packing up her guitar after another show. They still haven’t really graduated from playing most of their gigs in this little coffee shop, but the owner’s nice and they manage to bring in enough friends to make a good little crowd of people for a Thursday night, so it’s a decent arrangement all around.

“You guys were amazing tonight, that was totally your best show,” Clary announces confidently, and Maureen looks up to see her playing with the end of her ponytail, smiling and clutching her sketchbook to her chest. 

“You think?” She doesn’t mean to sound so skeptical, she’s just surprised by the compliment, by the grin on Clary’s face and her sudden presence a foot away from Maureen, definitely encroaching into personal-bubble-space. 

“Definitely,” Clary nods seriously, like she’s evaluated this based on all kinds of criteria. “This isn’t the first band Simon’s played in, and I’ve been dragged to some pretty… _interesting_ shows—” she smirks “—so believe me, you guys are on a new level here.”

Maureen nods, ignores the little pang in her stomach at the reminder that Clary and Simon have known each other since forever, apparently. 

“Well, thanks,” she says, a little awkward, because there isn’t really anything else she can say to that, is there?

She spots Simon in the entrance of the coffee shop, poking his head back in, looking around.

“I think Simon’s looking for you,” she tells Clary, who blinks and looks over her shoulder, gives Simon a little wave and then turns back to Maureen and looks almost apologetic.

“I’ll see you soon!” she says brightly, and Maureen just nods, too perplexed to say anything else as Clary heads out. She watches her go, watches through the front window as Clary start babbling to Simon as soon as she gets outside, watches the two of them walk off together.

She’s been so used to feeling bitter every time she sees that bright hair of Clary’s, every time she hears Simon mention some amazing talent of Clary’s for the millionth time. She’s been really, really predisposed to not liking the other girl just for the principle of it.

But it turns out, for all her principles, Clary Fray is actually kind of nice, and maybe not the worst thing in the world to happen to her. 

Maybe.

 

 

 

It becomes a regular routine, sort of, Clary sidling up to Maureen when they’re taking down their equipment at the end of the night. She helps coil up wires to carry out to the van, and she helps rearrange the tables in the coffee shop, and while she does all this helping out, she asks Maureen questions.

She wants to know when she started playing guitar, and if she plays any other instruments, and what high school she went to, and why she took a year off before applying to university, and what that was like, and what’s her favourite band right now this second, and how was her week?

Clary’s one of the most curious people Maureen’s ever encountered – one of the _nosiest_ people, she corrects, a little less charitably. 

It hits her one night that maybe her whole bad-idea-crush-on-her-bandmate wasn’t as much of a secret as she thought. Maybe it’s been obvious to Simon and Jake and even Clary this whole damn time, maybe that’s why Clary’s got a million questions for her, maybe she’s just scoping out the competition.

Except there is no competition, Maureen would tell her, if the idea of bringing it up at all didn’t make her want to shrivel up into a tiny husk of embarrassment. 

She can’t get Clary’s questions out of her head though, not after the fourth night it happens, when it’s officially becoming a regular pattern. She can’t get _Clary_ out of her head, not for her entire walk home, not when she trudges up the stairs to her bedroom, not when she collapses into her bed.

Clary’s become like a tiny, buzzing insect, always nagging at her thoughts, always there just out of reach, buzzing and buzzing away even when she just wants to forget about it and watch something on Netflix before she falls asleep.

She’s never thought of herself as the type to go after someone with a girlfriend, never thought of herself as someone who would get jealous of someone else’s relationship. She’d accepted that her and Simon were better off as friends. She was moving on.

And then Clary Fray popped up and Maureen can’t stop thinking about her peppy questions and her big eyes and her bright, impossible hair and the way she bites her lip when she isn’t sure if she’s been asking too many questions and the way she giggles with her chin tucked in when an inside joke passes between her and Simon and the way she gets this little wrinkle between her eyebrows when she’s sketching during one of their sets and why can’t Maureen stop going over all these little things, why can’t she get them out of her head—

 _Oh_ , Maureen thinks suddenly, shocks herself enough that she actually sits up in bed. 

Oh, shit.

 

 

 

It’s an entirely different kind of bitterness that makes her stomach churn when she sees Simon-and-Clary now, somehow a thousand times stronger now that she’s realized it’s not so much because of her crush-on-a-bandmate problem and more because of a brand new crush-on- _his-girlfriend_ problem.

It’s kind of funny. 

It would be funnier if she was hearing about it in someone else’s life.

Simon talks about Clary all the time, even when she’s not around, even when they’re just slumped on the couch in Jake’s basement taking a pause from practice. He talks about a scary movie he went to see with Clary the night before and how she was way braver than him throughout it, and he talks about how Clary found them this new brunch restaurant that has amazing waffles, and he talks about how Clary spotted a flyer for an all-ages open mic night at a bar nearby and thinks their band should try to get a spot.

Maureen doesn’t say anything, just offers a bit of mumbled agreement at the last part, tries not to imagine Clary at the movies, or Clary ordering waffles at brunch, or Clary getting all excited about the band.

It feels a little, unfair, really, to finally be over Simon and then have something like _this_ happen. She would have been totally fine by now, if it hadn’t been for Clary popping up and making her get jealous by being so perfect and pretty and genuinely nice, and then making her feel other things entirely.

Okay, ha, ha, she got what she deserved. Lesson learned.

Time to move on.

 

 

 

Maureen’s helping Simon load their drum kit into the back of the van one night after a show – this is usually Jake’s duty, what with him being their drummer, but he’s inside talking to the coffee shop’s manager about maybe organizing a weekend show soon. 

The drum kit’s heavy and Maureen’s arms are sore and tired and she doesn’t think tonight was her best show, knows she messed up one of the bits where she plays solo, and it’s not like either of the guys said anything about it, but she’s just not in the best mood and ready for the day to be over.

“I really think we should paint the van, do something cooler with it,” Simon’s saying – he’s been babbling about this the whole time they’ve been trying to manoeuver the drum kit into the back – “I can get spray paints, and Clary offered to do the design for us, she’s great at that sort of thing, I’m sure she’ll make it look awesome, that’s you know, her whole art thing, she’d be perfect for it—”

And it’s not like Maureen isn’t used to the constant stream of Clary talk, but she’s really, really not in the mood for it right now. Clary had her sketchbook out at the show again tonight, and Maureen couldn’t stop looking over at her, couldn’t stop getting distracted even when it made her mess up her solo, and maybe that’s what that does it, maybe it’s the fact that this little crush is now screwing with her role in the band that pushes her over the edge—

“I know your girlfriend is like, the most talented person in the world, but could you please shut up about her for _one second_ and just help me with this,” she snaps at Simon.

It’s mean, and there’s no excuse for it, but she’s so goddamn _frustrated_ with this whole situation, so sick of both Simon _and_ Clary at that moment.

“What?” 

Simon almost drops his end of the drum kit, and Maureen yelps, but he catches himself quickly and steadies his footing.

“Wait, put this down, put this down,” he says, and they settle the drums back down on the ground of the parking lot. 

Simon is staring at her, blinking and flushed red.

“Clary is— _not_ my girlfriend,” he finally chokes out, eyes wide. “She’s my best friend, I thought you—she’s just my best friend! I wasn’t—I just—I was just trying to help her out—I mean. We’re just friends, Maureen, that’s it.”

He’s stumbling over the words, getting more and more red in the face by the second and Maureen feels like something very fundamental in the ground beneath her feet has shifted and thrown her off balance, _a lot_ off balance, and all she can think about is Clary’s bright hair and Clary’s thousands of questions and how she was never Simon’s girlfriend for a single moment, not any of it. 

“....What?” she finally says. She can’t think of anything else to say. This changes _so much._ This changes _everything._

Maureen doesn’t want to feel too hopeful but there’s a weird, giddy feeling rising in her chest that she can’t entirely squash down.

Simon rubs at his forehead, looking a little frazzled and a lot embarrassed, like he’s just realized he made a really big mistake somewhere along the way.

“I think you should, um, I think you should go talk to her. Clary,” he finally says, slowly, like he hadn’t quite decided whether or not this was the right thing to say before he started saying it.

Maureen just stares at him. He can’t possibly mean—he doesn’t mean—

“She’s still inside,” Simon says, nods back towards the coffee house they both left. “I’ll get Jake to finish helping with this stuff. Go talk to Clary.”

“Okay.” Maureen’s throat is so, so dry she has to swallow, has to wet her lips, still can’t stop staring at Simon and trying to figure him out. “Okay, yeah, I’ll, um, go do that. Okay. Thanks.”

Simon’s smiling, just a little bit to himself, like he’s in on a joke that she doesn’t get, and Maureen narrows her eyes at him, briefly suspicious, but there’s no point lingering on it. Clary’s inside and Simon thinks she should go talk to her. 

She turns away from him, and she walks back to the coffee shop one step at a time, and she stops and squares her shoulders outside the door, and then she pushes it open and ducks back inside.

 

 

 

Clary’s slouched in one of the comfy armchairs in the back of the shop, busy texting on her phone with her sketchbook closed in her lap.

Maureen walks over, hoping Clary will look up, hoping that the right words for whatever she wants to say will somehow just leap into her mouth at exactly the right moment, because right now she doesn’t really know what she’s doing.

She just has to do _something_ , say _something_ , because suddenly the world is full of a million more possibilities than it was thirty seconds ago.

“Um, hey, Clary,” she says when she’s almost hovering over her, feeling like a bit of a creep for not announcing her presence earlier, except she didn’t know what to say, and she still doesn’t, and the words come out awkwardly.

Clary jumps a little in her seat, clearly startled as she swivels around to face Maureen. Her sketchbook slides out of her lap and falls on the floor as she does so, and Maureen reaches down to pick it up automatically.

“It’s okay—” Clary starts to say, but Maureen’s already grabbed it, and she’s not meaning to snoop, she’s honestly not, even if she’s more than a little curious to see Clary’s drawings. But she turns it over when she starts to hand it back to Clary, and then—stops. 

The book is open to a sketch of the band, all three of them, but—Maureen gulps, and her heart picks up its pace, suddenly thumping away way too fast for the small space between her and Clary—it’s a drawing of _her_.

Clary’s sketched Jake and Simon at her sides, but the angle puts her right in the middle of the drawing, the focal point of the whole piece. Jake and Simon are sketched out in rough lines, but the most work has gone into the sketch of Maureen, centre stage, head ducked down over her guitar, eyes closed, curls framing her face in painstaking detail.

Despite all of Simon’s talk about what a great artist Clary is, Maureen’s never actually seen any of her work before, and the first thing she’s seeing is a drawing of _her_ , and it’s a lot to take in, and Clary’s saying something but it takes a second for the words to come into focus, like rising up through water.

“—sorry, I know, sorry, this is probably weird, I’m not—I wasn’t trying to be weird, I just like drawing people, and you always look so great onstage, and—I didn’t want to freak you out—I’ll just—”

She reaches for her sketchbook and Maureen finally makes eye contact with her. Clary’s blushing, and her other hand is clenched in a tight fist in her lap, and Maureen thinks of every single time she’s noticed Clary sketching away during their shows and every single time Clary’s come up to her afterwards to chat and she feels like the biggest idiot to ever live.

Instead of handing the sketchbook back to Clary, she sets it down on the little table in front of her, and Clary starts to say “I’m sorry, really—” but she never gets to finish that sentence because then Maureen kisses her.

Clary makes a small, surprised noise, and for the tiniest fraction of a second Maureen wonders if maybe she’s wildly misread this whole situation all over again, but then Clary is kissing her back, hands fisting in the front of her shirt and pulling her closer, even as she tumbles back into the armchair and pulls Maureen down with her. 

Maureen’s hands are in Clary’s hair, those bright curls she hasn’t been able to get out of her mind getting tangled around her fingers. They’re in an ungraceful heap on the armchair, and she pulls back to catch her breath and then Clary is giggling, then trying to bite it back and failing.

Maureen wets her lips, tries to bite down on her own smile. 

“You’re a very talented artist,” she finally says, as seriously as she can manage.

“Well, you’re a very talented musician,” Clary replies, her voice a little breathy. She grins, impish. “Just a little oblivious, though.”

Maureen rolls her eyes, and Clary keeps grinning but squirms back a little into the armchair so they can both get more comfortable.

“I probably deserve that,” she admits, and Clary nods with wide, serious eyes. Maureen is suddenly desperate to know exactly what this has been like for Clary, what she was thinking at every step along the way when Maureen clearly had no idea what was going on.

Clary kisses her again, just a soft, short kiss this time, and when she pulls back, Maureen says the first thing that comes to mind, the question she probably should have asked weeks ago.

“Will you go on a date with me, Clary Fray?” And before Clary can say anything, she quickly adds—“I just heard about this place that has _really_ good waffles.”

Clary laughs.

“I would love to.”

 

 

 


End file.
